“Mom!” I called out, but his hand was so hard over my words, it barely carried. I breathed hard through my nose.
“Oh, yes, by alllllll means,” I heard my mother shout back. “Let’s take them to the next company function where your latest twenty-year-old slut can suck the sweat out of you in the men’s room with all of our friends outside!”
My ears perked, and for a moment I stopped fighting him.
“Is this one pregnant, too?” she went on. “Paying for another abortion and to keep her mouth shut about it is really going to nail home those good Catholic values we’ve tried to instill in the children. You’re such a piece of shit.”
“Say it again,” my father dared her.
Pregnant? Abortion? What?
I shook my head, clearing it, and called out again. “Mom! Dad!”
He held me so tight, my teeth cut into the inside of my mouth.
“You work for nothing and spend, spend, spend, you lazy bitch,” my dad continued, “so if I want a young piece of ass to bounce up and down on my cock once in a while, then I’d say I earned it!”
I winced. Young piece of ass? Oh, my God. What the hell were they doing?
“And you can smile and take out my credit card, go shopping, and shut the fuck up about it,” he told her.
A slap pierced the air, and I startled.
“I hate you,” my mother choked out. “I hate you!”
The springs in the bed squeaked, and it sounded like a struggle.
“We weren’t always like this!” my mom cried. “You wanted me. You loved me.”
“Yeah, I did. When you were a young piece of ass.”
Fabric ripped, and my mother growled as they fought. I froze, not fighting anymore and tears pooling so heavy they threatened to spill over.
“But thanks to my money,” Dad said, “you still have the tits.”
She cried out, and I heard another slap, and then grunts and groans, and I shook my head, starting to cry. But before I could think of what to do, the hands left my mouth and waist, and instead came up and covered my ears as he pulled me close.
“Shhhh,” he soothed, his mouth next to my temple.
I cried quietly, their voices dulled now, but I could still pick up pieces.
“Oh, God,” my father groaned. “Yeah.”
I shrunk.
“Get off of me,” my mom demanded. “No!”
“Uh, come on.” My dad’s voice sounded labored. “I’ve still got her all over my dick. Your cunt will smell like hers. Sweet, like honey.”
I brought my hand up to cover the sobs escaping, and that’s when he brought me into his chest, still holding his hand over one ear, but pressing the other into his heart.
I breathed through my hand, and even though I wanted out of here, and I didn’t give a damn if they knew I’d heard them, I was afraid of the consequences. Since my father hadn’t actually wanted to bring me home from Montreal, he wouldn’t need a good excuse to send me back.
So I stayed in here, the boy’s heartbeat drumming in my ear, and after a few moments, everything had calmed. My tears stopped, my breathing got slower and more steady, and I couldn’t hear my parents anymore.
Just his heart, pumping heavy and fast and in a constant, perfect pace like a metronome, unchanging.
At some point I dropped my hand from my mouth, my arms hanging limply at my sides, but he never let me go. And the beating in his chest lulled me until my eyes grew too heavy to keep open anymore.
Exhaustion took over, and before I knew it, I was lost in it.
In his warmth. In his arms. In the thunder of his heartbeat.
The next morning, I woke up, slowly blinking my eyes awake and my body feeling like it weighed a ton.
Why did—?
But then my eyes popped open wide, and I shot up in bed, remembering last night.
“Hello?” I called out. “Is there anyone there?”
There was no answer, and I reached over, hitting my alarm clock.
“Nine-thirty a.m.,” the clock said.
It was morning. Late morning. I never slept this late.
I plastered my hands to my body, inventorying my clothes. I still wore my jeans and tank top, and I still had on my bra and my ballet slippers.
I darted my hand to my jeans zipper, wincing just in case.
But my jeans were buttoned and zipped, and my body, although tired, felt fine. I didn’t think he’d touched me. At least not in that way.
Throwing off my covers, I swung my legs over the side and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. How did I get in bed? I wasn’t sure which was the least mortifying option. Actually falling asleep after he’d scared me half to death and then him putting me to bed or my parents finding me passed out in the closet and discovering I’d been there the whole time. And them putting me to bed. I almost didn’t want to leave the room to find out the answer.
But I needed to face the music.
Standing up, I walked alongside my bed, toward the door, but I accidently kicked something in my way and stopped.
I held out my hands, finding a cardboard box.
No, actually… Two cardboard boxes, stacked on top of each other.
I opened the top one and reached hesitantly inside, feeling wood, ceramic, glass, and clay. There were miniature trees, glitter-capped roofs, and models of houses, buildings, and a clock tower.
Then my hand knocked a model, and Carol of the Bells began playing, and I knew it was the ice rink adorned with little trees and ice skaters.
I almost smiled. It was the Christmas village. Two boxes of components.
How did…
Footsteps pounded down the hallway, and I heard my mother call down to Arion, sounding completely different than she did last night. I veered around the boxes and opened the door, peeking my head out.
“Ari, is that you?”
“I’m getting my shower,” she said as she passed me.
“Did you get the snow village for me?” I inquired. I wanted to thank her if she did.
But she just barked back at me. “I said ask Mom. I have no idea where it is.”
Okay. Wasn’t her then. I ducked back into my room, scratching my head.
What the hell was going on?
“Hey, sweetie,” my mom greeted, entering my room. “Did you have a good night?”
Jesus, no. My mind flashed to what I’d heard with her and my dad—how they both sounded like they were killing each other. God, the things my father said…
Growing up, I remembered them fighting, but I’d been gone a long time, it seemed.
“Are…are you okay?” I asked hesitantly as she moved about my room, probably making my bed, because she still thought I needed help. “Last night, I mean. I thought I heard—”
“Oh, did Ari get the village for you?” She cut me off. “That was nice of her. See, she does love you.”
She pinched my chin, teasing me, and I jerked a little, not in the mood.
“Get dressed,” she told me. “We have brunch in an hour.”
She left the room as quickly as she’d come in, and I gathered she didn’t want to know how much I’d heard last night.
But she didn’t seem to know I was in the closet, at least. Thank goodness for that.
And Ari was acting completely normal. For Ari anyway.
Neither of them were responsible for the Christmas village in my room, either.
“What the hell?” I thought out loud, knitting my brow. “What the hell was that last night?”
Was it just some elaborate prank? Why would he threaten and scare me the way he did and then…and then shield me when my parents started fighting? He protected me and put me to bed and somehow knew I wanted the Christmas village that my sister wouldn’t get for me.
I knew I should tell my parents about what happened, but...
I don’t know. It could’ve been just a prank, right?
If I told them, it could get me sent back to Montreal where I was “safer and in my own element” like my father wanted. I really didn’t want to bring any drama to his attention, because I’d be the one to get punished.
No. The boy didn’t hurt me. Not yet, anyway.
In fact, he was kind of an angel at the end. An angel with really black batwings.
Psycho.
Damon
Present
“So this is Women, Gender, and Sexuality in Japan,” I said, walking into Banks’ classroom. “Part One.”